


Collection of drabbles

by fluffybookfaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffybookfaerie/pseuds/fluffybookfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mostly domestic dean/cas drabbles that I've written in the past couple of months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collection of drabbles

Sometimes Dean lies next to Cas, pretending to be asleep, but really the thoughts are spiraling around in his head and he’s trying to keep it together just enough that Cas won’t notice or worry. Because he loves Cas so much, and he’s so happy, but he knows he doesn’t deserve this. He deserves to be punished, not rewarded. And up until now, he hasn’t been allowed to be happy. Everything, every person, that he loved, was taken away from him. And that’s why he fought it for so long, because he was afraid that if he let himself love Cas this much, that it would be over before it started. All he can do to reassure himself is roll over and reach out to his angel, trying to believe that this is real, and hoping that they aren’t living on borrowed time.

***

Sometimes Dean and Sam drive all night to get to their next job. Dean may joke about his four hours a night, but he can’t justify sleeping any longer when he knows he could be hunting. And then there are the nightmares. Sometimes they’re about hell, sometimes they’re about purgatory, sometimes they’re just about losing his family, but going to sleep knowing that he could wake up shaking and sweating is like playing russian roulette. The only nights he’s guaranteed to sleep through are the ones he spends curled up next to Cas.

***

Dean loved purgatory because all he had to be was a hunter. He didn’t have to be strong for Sam, or worry about whether the things he was killing really deserved to be killed. He loved purgatory because all he had to do was slice his way out.  
Dean loved purgatory because he could love Cas openly. Because being judged by monsters was not the same as being judged by other people. Because purgatory wasn’t real, not the way Earth was, and admitting his feelings to himself in purgatory didn’t really count.  
Dean hated purgatory. He hated that he had to worry about Cas, about protecting him, and about failing him. But most of all, he hated the feeling he had in the back of his mind that once they left, everything would be different between him and his angel.

***

The next time Cas and Dean make love, Cas takes his time, pushing Dean right up to the edge but never quite over it, because the memory of killing Dean a thousand times is still echoing in his head. So he tries to memorize the feel, the taste of Dean’s skin, the sound of Dean’s moans as he begs Cas to let him climax. The begging hurts, because it hearkens back to the begging of the clones, right before he killed them. But Cas keeps denying him, because at least he knows that his Dean is writhing and moaning in pleasure, not in pain. At least this way, he can keep confirming, with his eyes, his ears, his lips, that Dean is still fully, overwhelmingly, alive.

***

It felt like a lifetime had passed since Dean had first met Cas. Back when they were first getting to know each other, when he and Sam needed the angel’s help for some job they were working, that was when Dean first started praying. When, as often happened, Cas didn’t answer, the simple pleas devolved into Dean trying to shock the angel down out of heaven. He’d start blaspheming, or insulting Cas’s mother (if he even had a mother) and once, after he’d had a few too many swigs from a bottle of whiskey and the brothel incident was still fresh in his mind, things took a decidedly sexual turn. It was just logical that the best way to shock a virgin would be to talk about sex. Dean was far from virginal, and yet he could feel himself growing more and more uncomfortable with the vivid description he was composing, until he finally stopped mid-sentence, too weirded out to go on. And of course, that was the moment Cas chose to show up, skipping over his customary “Hello Dean” to ask, simply, “Why did you stop?” And of course Dean couldn’t answer, so for a long moment they just gazed at each other, and it should have been awkward, and it was, but there was also something there that made Dean want to bridge the distance between them instead of stepping away like he always did. But then he cleared his throat, and the moment was over, and he finally remembered why he had summoned the angel in the first place.

Dean thought about that moment a lot nowadays. What if, before Cas had betrayed them by working with Crowley, before purgatory, before this Naomi bitch had messed with Castiel’s head, before everything had gotten so tangled between them—what if they had missed their chance?

***

In Cas’s absence, Dean takes to reading the bible. Never in front of Sam, because he knows his brother will just give him that pitying look and try to get him to talk about it. But when he’s alone in his room at night, he’ll flip through the pages, searching desperately for any mention of angels. Castiel was never mentioned, of course, but there are some familiar names in the mix. Sometimes he gets a kick out of it. It’s hard to reconcile his image of Gabriel the trickster with the solemn archangel from the stories. Mostly, it just makes him angrier, with all its talk of destiny and serving heaven. 

Sometimes, when he turns one of the thin pages just right, it makes a sound similar to the fluttering of wings, and it sickens him how hopeful that little sound makes him, even if it’s only for a second.

***

The first kiss was easy. It didn’t require words or even much thought, just two people making the same decision to lean in. The first kiss was relief that they were alive and a mutual acknowledgement of things that had gone unsaid for far too long. It was reunion and first union and communion and consummation. It was a live wire that sprung from cool touches, chapped lips and the scratch of stubble, and it was right and it was  
effortless.  
The second kiss was hard. They needed to think, to discuss, to plan, and they needed to wait for a time of peace that might never come. The second kiss was awkward because it was not effortless, but it was gentle and it was honey sweet, and the second kiss meant that the first was not a mistake.  
The third kiss was natural. It was not new but it was not yet old. It was vanilla ice cream melting on apple pie fresh from the oven, and it was the promise of sturdiness even as it made them unsteady. The third kiss was love.

***

Dean could feel a change in the bunker after Cas moved in. He felt like he was in a constant state of anticipation, knowing that every time he turned a corner, Cas could be there. He felt a frisson whenever they met eyes over the dinner table. His last thought before he went to sleep every night was that Cas was there, right down the hall, and maybe, the fallen angel was thinking about him, too. Dean savored this, knowing that it might be all he’d ever get. God only knew they’d uprooted their lives at a moment’s notice in the past. And he liked to think he knew Cas pretty well, but the son of a bitch was so hard to read, especially lately. There had been times when he could have sworn Cas felt the same way about him. But then there was purgatory, when he’d hugged Cas, and Cas had just stood there, stiff and unwelcoming. And the crypt, when he’d desperately put himself out there, and Cas had never even acknowledged that. He was happy with things as they were, and happiness came so rarely to him that he didn’t want to risk changing it. Maybe one day, he’d have the courage to put himself out there again. Maybe one day he’d feel confident enough that this domesticity was going to last. But for now, he contented himself with the miracle of Cas’s presence. For now, that was enough.

***

It was still Cas’s first instinct, every time Dean was injured during a hunt, to reach out a hand and heal him. He’d been human for months now, but the impulse was still there. He’d try to cover it up as soon as he remembered his power was gone, pretending he was going in for a kiss or smoothing Dean’s hair back, but he was terrible at hiding his thoughts, especially from Dean. The hunter would just shake his head fondly at him. “I always healed myself fine before you came along,” he’d say. But Cas hated to see Dean in pain, and he hated being helpless to stop it. So the boys taught him how to heal people their way, with whiskey, a penknife, a sewing needle and some dental floss. He took pride in the small, even stitches he gave Dean when the injuries were bad, but every night, he wasn’t satisfied until one by one, he’d kissed all of Dean’s injuries, the old scars and the bruises. It wasn’t magic, but somehow, it helped.

***

“Dean… you told me once that I was broken, and it’s still true. I might be sane, more or less, but I can still barely live with myself knowing the things I’ve done to my brethren… and to you. My brain has gone through so much, I don’t know how much is left of the angel who raised you from perdition.”  
“You know what, Cas? I have literally been through hell, and I’ve lost every single person I’ve ever cared about, some more than once. And one of the only things that makes any of that even close to okay is being with you. You’re broken? So freaking what. I’m broken too. I say let’s be broken together.”

***

Sometimes Castiel would toss and turn in his sleep, waking Dean in the night, covering him in his cold sweat, and his eyes would open wide as he’d scream into the darkness that he wasn’t a hammer of heaven he wasn’t Naomi’s tool he wasn’t.  
Dean would pull him close, wiping the sweat off his brow, and remind him of the times he’d stood against heaven, the time he had prevented heaven’s army from starting the apocalypse, and the fact that now he was lying in bed with the very person Naomi had tried so hard to keep him from.  
Other nights, Castiel would moan in anguish as his eyes rolled wildly under his closed eyelids, his fists clenched tight, his body curled inwards. He’d mutter in his sleep that he wasn’t anyone’s new god, that didn’t want to kill his brethren, that he was just Castiel, please, he was just Castiel.  
Dean would gently shake him awake, kiss away the tears, and remind him of the lives he’d saved, the lives he’d cherished, the evil he’d banished, and the fact that he was human now, and how proud would his father be if he could see him now?  
There were some days, more and more often, when Dean didn’t need to remind Cas who he was. When he bought groceries, along with the pie and the salad, he’d buy the things he wanted. When he and Dean made love, he’d tell Dean what he liked and what he didn’t like. And afterwards, he’d fall asleep on top of the other man. And if Dean was tempted to push him off because his arm was falling asleep under the weight of his lover, he’d ignore it, because it was so good to see Cas looking so relaxed, falling asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
